the shadow of doubt
by airbefore
Summary: She arrested him tonight. For the third time. This is the first time it's broken her heart. ***Spec fic for 5x05. Spoilers from US promo only ***
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.

**AN: **My first attempt at case work. Eep!

* * *

The soft rush late night traffic does nothing to dampen the sound of her sobs echoing pathetically off the cold stone walls of her bedroom. Her chest aches, scars pulled tight against her ribs, neck and shoulders soaked with tears she stopped fighting an hour ago.

She arrested him tonight. For the third time.

This is the first time it's broken her heart.

The look of absolute betrayal he'd worn haunts her, the unspoken plea in his eyes seared into her mind. She wants to believe that he could never do this, that he's not capable of such violence. She wants to think that she knows him better, knows his heart. But does she really? She's seen him attack on more than one occasion, his fists turned to weapons, a gun held in his hand. She remembers his adamance about Damian Westlake, how he was convinced the man wasn't capable of murder. She'd told him that she could make that statement about only a handful of people she's met in her life.

He was once among them.

But now -

The evidence is mounting. A connection with the victim, a hidden past. Jewelry. His fingerprints at the scene. A series of phone calls that he says were work related, the last made within twenty minutes of the estimated time of death. His alibi is shaky at best, paper thin and easily dismantled. No one can vouch for him. He wasn't at home, he wasn't with her. He claims to have been at the Old Haunt, writing in his basement office until well after closing but his staff tells a conflicting story, giving his arrival as a little after nine but claiming that he left between eleven and eleven-thirty. Well within the kill zone.

Beckett hangs her head, her tears slowing, heart rate evening out. He's lied to her before. Lied to them all for months on end. She hates the doubt that sits heavy on her chest but she can't shake it, can't write it off as just a series of coincidences. With a sigh, she stands and walks toward her bathroom, avoiding the mirror as she strips off her day old clothes and climbs into the shower. There's a possibility that he's guilty. She doesn't want to believe it but she can't ignore it.

Either way, guilty or innocent, she has to know.

* * *

She goes to the precinct at three. She needs to see him and there's no way sleep will be coming for her tonight so it might as well be now. The desk sergeant nods her through and she wants to scream, rail at him for the pity in his eyes. The chair beside her desk mocks her as she drops her bag on her desk, studiously avoiding her reflection waving across the black screen of her computer. She knows she looks like hell, her face bare of make-up, eyes red-rimmed, hair pulled back into a messy bun. The energy needed to pull herself together was just more than she had to spare.

Her stride falters as she approaches the holding cell, the soft soles of her sneakers silent on the cracked linoleum. She watches him through the bars, his body slumped in the corner, defeat written in the curved lines of his shoulders. It's the smallest she's ever seen him and her heart shatters anew, an uninvited sob catching in her throat. His head jerks up at the sound, eyes immediately seeking her through the shadows.

"Beckett." The word is cold and broken, his feelings of betrayal at her doubt hanging off the sharp edges. "What are you doing here?"

"Where were you, Castle?"

He sighs and pushes himself up off the bench, shuffles slowly across the tiny cell. "I've already told you."

"Tell me again."

"Why? So you can pick it apart? See if I tell the same story the tenth time?" He shoves a hand through his hair, his face sallow in the dim lighting. "It's not going to change, Beckett, because it's the truth."

She stares at him silently, the brick wall cold against her back.

"Fine." Castle leans forward and hooks his fingers through the cage she's put him in, meets her eyes unwaveringly. "I left the loft at nine, got to the Haunt at nine-twenty. I was in my office writing until around eleven-thirty. I had hit a block and decided to go for a walk." His words are robotic and measured, the story one he's told a dozen times in the past twelve hours. "I went upstairs and left through the front door, walked around aimlessly for a while. When I was ready to head back, I decided to go through hidden entrance because I didn't feel like making small talk with the patrons. I wrote until two and then left again through the secret passage. I got home around two-thirty, which you've corroborated with my doorman and the security tape from my building."

"Why did you leave through the tunnel the second time?"

"Why does it matter? You think I did this."

"Castle -"

"Because I like to come and go that way. You _know_ that." He drops his voice, eyes closing in what might be embarrassment or shame and she hates herself just a little bit more for putting him through this. "It's fun. The sneaking in and out is fun."

"Why did you pay cash for the cab? Why'd you throw away the receipt?"

"I paid cash because I had it on me. I threw away the receipt because at the time I wasn't aware that I was going to need to establish a fucking alibi so that my girlfriend didn't suspect me of murder."

"Castle," she hisses, stepping off the wall. "Lower your voice."

He glares at her for a moment and then pushes off the bars, paces back and forth across the cell. "Keep going. I know you have more."

"You bought her jewelry."

It's a statement and her chest aches as the words force themselves out of her lungs. He bought her _jewelry_. A diamond tennis bracelet. Kate's wrist burns, her skin prickling with the ghostly weight of a gift that isn't hers.

"It was a thank you gift." Castle stops in the middle of the six by eight cell, facing away from her. "She works - worked - for Paula and was instrumental in getting me a better deal on the graphic novels. I bought her the bracelet as a thank you. Nothing more."

"But you dated her."

Castle sighs, turning back around to sit on the metal bench again. He leans his head back against the wall, eyes closed. "We went out a couple of times, yes. Years ago."

"Your number is all over her phone records."

"Again, Beckett, she worked for my agent."

"And she used her personal cell to call you for work related matters?"

"I guess."

His hands are clasped loosely between his spread thighs, his left thumb rubbing tight circles over the back of his right hand. She sways as she watches him, mind caught in the loop his thumb is drawing, her body heating with the memory of how those fingers feel on her skin, the lazy patterns he scribbles on her bare back as they lay tangled together in bed.

"Anything else?" His voice startles her, makes her jump, her knees dipping dangerously.

"Castle, I'm just trying to understand what's going on here."

"So am I." He lifts his head off the wall and looks at her, eyes shimmering with betrayal. "I'm trying to understand how it is that you can even _entertain_ the possibility that I actually had anything to do with this."

"The evidence -"

"Screw the evidence," he interrupts, unrestrained anger in his voice. "Screw the damned evidence. You know me. Aside from our personal relationship," his eyes flash and she has to wonder if that relationship even exists anymore, "I've been your partner for over four years. You know who I am, what I'm capable of. And you know - You _know_ I didn't do this."

"Your prints were in her apartment."

"I've explained that. I was there a few weeks ago for a -"

"Were you sleeping with her?" She watches the color in his face drain away, feels something inside herself break off and shatter. She has to know.

"How can you even ask me that?"

"Just answer." She fights back the emotion, tries to keep her voice even. If she starts crying again now she might never stop. "Were you sleeping with Michelle Brighton?"

"No. I'm in a relationship." He slumps back against the wall, the fight draining out of him in one fell swoop. "Or I was, at least."

"Castle -"

"Don't." He holds up a hand, halting her empty explanations. "Just don't." The hand falls heavily back into his lap and he twists away from her, curves his body back into the wall. "I'd rather not say anything else without my lawyer present, Detective."


	2. Chapter 2

**AN:** The response to this has been absolutely overwhelming. Huge thanks to everyone that has reviewed and followed and favorited. You guys are far too awesome for me.

* * *

Kate spends the next two hours in the precinct gym, taking her confusion and anger out on the heavy bag, her taped knuckles stinging with every blow. She tries to push it all away, to lose herself in the burn of her muscles, the way her heart hammers against her ribs, but the pull is too strong, a riptide of doubt and fear pulling her under, holding her down. He's locked in a cell, refusing to speak to her without counsel present, and all she can do is run the laps in her brain, tallying up all the strikes against him. Against his innocence.

Phone calls. Jewelry. Alibi. Past.

The words surge through her, jostling in the pit of her stomach with each punch. He lied to her. Withheld information about his connection to the victim until the last possible moment, until his choice was to own up or let her find out on her own. She almost wishes he'd chosen the latter. That he'd let her stumble over it herself instead of having to listen to his too quiet, halting explanation about his connection to Michelle, his past with her. The guilt in his voice when he'd admitted to buying the jewelry, to being in her apartment, to having dated her - the sound of it echoes inside of her, a sinister tune that swirls in her chest, binding itself around her heart and silencing its pathetic pleas. The bag swings heavily in front of her as she stops, gasping for breath as she smothers under the weight of the doubts pressing on her chest.

Ripping off the tape, Kate heads toward the locker room, the need to start the day, to get answers, swamping her veins. She showers as quickly as she can, the scalding water leaving her skin red and raw. Her body protests against the quick cool down and she can feel her muscles tensing uncomfortably even as she pulls on her clothes, her calves screaming when she steps into her heels. The cacophony of the blow dryer drowns out the litany of questions for a few blessed minutes, allows her mind to settle. Allows her to compartmentalize and focus. She leaves Kate, the brokenhearted and betrayed girlfriend, in the changing room and strides out with her badge clipped firmly to her hip, Detective Beckett from head to toe.

The mask slips when she runs into Ryan in the break room, his face too soft and understanding. He smiles at her gently as he pulls the stir stick out of the mug he's holding and then passes it over to her.

"I thought you'd - you know," he shrugs sheepishly, thin shoulders rising and falling.

She pulls her lips into what she hopes resembles a smile and takes a sip of the coffee, suppressing a shudder as the too sweet liquid sticks to the back of her throat.

"Thanks. Where's Esposito?"

"Said he was stopping by the morgue on his way in."

Ryan eyes her, mouth twitching. She knows he has something to say, is pretty sure she knows what it is but she can't do this right now. Not today.

"Beckett - "

"Let's get to work, okay?" She cuts him off, turning to leave the break room, her posture set.

"Kate."

She stops, ankles bowing as she sways on the spot. The coffee sloshes dangerously close to the rim of the mug and she brings her other hand up to steady it, the porcelain warm against her palm.

"You know he didn't do this."

"No, I don't," she says, turning back around. "I don't know that, Ryan, and neither do you."

"Yes, I do. Come on, Beckett. This is Castle. _Castle. _He's not a murderer." His eyes are wide and too blue and she wants to look away, wants to turn and run, avoid the rest of this awkward and ill-timed encounter. "The evidence against him is thin; circumstantial and easily explained away. Think about this. He's been here for four years, has worked a hundred cases -"

"I know." She drops the mug on the counter, leans back, the hard edge of the laminate biting into the small of her back. "I know all of that, Ryan. But how well do we really know him?" The young detective cocks a disbelieving eyebrow at her and she sighs. He knows. He knows and she knows he knows and there's no point in denying it anymore. Closing her eyes, she says it. "Okay. He didn't do it. But the evidence still points to him. We can't just ignore that. And there are other things, Kevin, that -" Kate falters, the words stuck in her throat.

The hum of the vending machine fills the silence. She hears Ryan shuffle, the loose fabric of his jacket rustling against his starched shirt.

"He didn't kill her." There's a pause, a pregnant moment where she's not sure if he's going to continue; going to acknowledge the elephant sitting on her chest. "And he wasn't sleeping with her. He wouldn't do that to you."

"I really want to believe that both of those things are true."

Ryan steps forward, determination etched into the line of his jaw. "I may not be able to do anything to convince you about the second thing but I _can_ prove the first."

Kate watches with wide eyes as he strides past her and speed walks across the bullpen, confidence in his gait. She reaches for the coffee and has it halfway to her mouth before she remembers. It's not right, not his. She dumps the milky brown liquid down the sink and rinses the cup before putting it back on the shelf. She doesn't want coffee. Not today.

* * *

She's just hung up with Esposito when the elevator chimes. She looks up on instinct, expecting to see Castle come tripping out, coffees in hand and an easy smile on his face. The doors slide open and her stomach churns; there is a Castle in the elevator, just not the one her forgetful heart was hoping for.

Alexis steps out timidly, her red-rimmed eyes scanning the nearly empty bullpen. Kate stands and walks toward the elevator, intercepting the girl before she can get close to her desk, see the murder board with her father's picture taped under the suspect heading.

"Alexis, you shouldn't be -"

"They won't let me see him," she hiccups, tears pooling in the corners of her eyes. "I just need to see him. Please." Alexis' shoulders shake and she wraps her arms around her middle, fingers digging into her own waist as she tries to hold it together.

"Come on." Kate lays a hand on her back and guides her into the nearest family room, not bothering to flip on the overhead lights. She pushes the girl into a chair, sits on the coffee table in front of her. "Can I get you anything?"

Alexis looks up at her, eyes flashing from despair to anger. "You could admit that he didn't do this and start looking for the real killer."

"Alexis, it's not that easy."

"The hell is isn't! You know him. You've known him for years. He's not capable of this. He's always trusted _you_ and had faith in _you_. Why can't you do the same for him?"

"This isn't about faith or trust, Alexis." She keeps her voice low and gentle, sliding forward on the table and placing a hand on the girl's knee. Alexis flinches but doesn't pull away and Kate tries to read that as a positive. "I'm a cop; I have to follow the evidence and right now it's pointing at your dad. I wish it wasn't." She sighs, lets her armor crack just a bit. "I _really_ wish it wasn't."

"He's innocent, Kate. You _have_ to know he's innocent."

Kate swallows, the bitter tang of guilt coating her throat. She does know him; she knows that, if nothing else, he didn't kill Michelle Brighton. Kate dips her head, finds the Alexis' eyes. "I'm trying to prove it but it takes time."

"Have you seen him?" Alexis' voice is soft, full of fear and need, and for a moment Kate forgets that she's sitting across from a college freshman, sees nothing but a little girl, scared and desperate for the only parent she's ever had. "Is he okay?"

She wants to lie, wants to tell her that he's just fine, same as always. But she can't. She owes Alexis more than that. She owes Castle more than that.

"I saw him this morning, yes. He's -" She falters, her fingers tightening around Alexis's knee as she searches for the right words. "He's upset but he's hanging in."

"Can I see him?"

Kate sighs. "I wish I could let you but I can't. Not right now." Alexis opens her mouth to protest and she holds up a hand, stalls the rebuttal before it can start. "I'm already compromised on this, Alexis, and I can't risk losing this case. I can't let someone else be in charge of this."

Alexis stares at her, the tear tracks drying on her round cheeks. "You'll get him out?"

"I'll do everything I can." It's not a lie. She will. She just hopes it will be enough.

"Okay." Alexis slumps back in her chair, shoulders sagging and face pale. "Okay."

"Where's Martha?"

"At home. She was on the phone with the lawyer when I left."

The elevator chimes again and Kate looks up, sees Esposito stride out. She waves at him and he pokes his head in the door, an unspoken question written on his face.

"Can you get one of the unis to take Alexis home?"

Esposito nods as Alexis protests. "No. I don't want to go home. There's nothing to do there but worry and listen to Gram talk worst case scenarios with the lawyer. I want to help."

"The best thing you can do right now is go home, Alexis. We have to give this case our full attention and I can't expect them to do that with you sitting here watching." Doubt wavers in the girl's eyes and Kate can't really blame her for it. Nothing about this is okay. "I promise, I'll make sure you know the moment something changes."

"Okay." She stands with a sigh far too old for her young body and Kate watches her leave. Alexis turns around at the door, her ponytail swinging against her shoulders. "He loves you."

Kate closes her eyes. "I know."

When she opens her eyes again, Esposito is handing Alexis off to Officer Hastings. Kate stands and goes to her desk, gathering her coat and keys.

"Espo. Let's go."

"Where're we going?"

"Back to the vic's apartment. We missed something."

"CSU has been there all night, Beckett. If there's something to be found, they'll find it."

She spins on her heel, feels the heat rising in her face. She's not leaving this up to someone else.

"We're going back to the scene, Javier."

He stares at her in silence for a moment and then nods.

"Let's go."


	3. Chapter 3

**AN:** And we're entering the realm of serious suspension of disbelief. The idea that Beckett would be allowed to work this case is ridiculous, I know, but it does seem that that's how the show is going to run it. Also, I know that things like DNA and whatnot take weeks not hours but just go with me, okay? Thanks.

HUGE HUGE thanks to everyone that's commented and followed. The response to this has been nothing short of amazing for me.

* * *

The ride to the scene is quiet, the tension a silent but oppressive third party. It fills in the empty spaces of her car, presses her down against the seat. She fights to keep her body upright, to ward off the desire to curl in on herself and hide. Hide from her doubts, her fears, the truth she's not certain she's ready to face. She can feel Esposito casting sidelong glances at her every couple of blocks, his jaw clenching with whatever it is he's holding back. Beckett tightens her hands around the steering wheel, watches as her knuckles blanch, the washed out skin a visible reminder of how empty she feels.

Barricades still mark off the crime scene, a smattering of uniforms milling about on the sidewalk. They all jump to some approximation of attention when they see her cruiser pull up, the jokes and chatter dying immediately. Beckett watches them, pulling in a deep breath, trying to prepare herself for this. She's not leaving here without something she can use to clear him. She can't go back to the station empty handed. Not while he's sitting in a cell in the basement, betrayed and angry and, she thinks, more than a little heartbroken. At least they have matching wounds.

She's reaching out for the handle on the door when Esposito finally speaks.

"You don't have to feel guilty about this."

A sigh escapes without her permission and she turns to look at him, keeps her face as blank as possible. "What?"

"You're a cop. You're doing your job and following the evidence. He can't be mad at you for that, Beckett."

She just stares at him for a moment, wonders if he actually believes that or is just trying to make her feel better. Esposito stares back and shifts in his seat, the heavy leather of his holster catching on the bulky console. She can see the thoughts clicking behind his eyes, know he's trying to work himself up to say something he's not sure he should. She breaks their staring contest and pops open the door, climbs out into the crisp October morning.

The air is light and sweet and it reminds her of all the reasons she loves fall, the colors and the warm scents and jackets and boots. Her mind replays a memory from three days ago, waking up on a cool morning wrapped up with Castle, listening to him whine about how cold her apartment is while he pressed the tip of his nose into the crook of her neck. Her chest aches as the sound of his voice fills her ears, the phantom weight of his arms twining around her middle. She shoves the image away, pushes it back behind the wall. She can't go there right now. She can't think about all the nights he's spent in her bed.

And all the nights he hasn't.

Esposito catches up with her in the entryway, his boots thudding heavily on the yellowing linoleum. They start up the stairs in silence, Beckett in the lead. The victim's apartment is on the fourth floor and she finds herself grateful for the climb, for the time to breathe and center herself. She cannot be Kate right now. She cannot keep thinking about her boyfriend being locked in a cell at the Twelfth. He's a suspect. Suspect. Not the man she loves.

"I know you don't want to think about this," Esposito starts, his low voice startling her. Beckett misses a step and trips, her hand landing on the grimy wall for balance. Esposito reaches out to help but drops his hand quickly when she glares at him.

"Think about what?"

"That there's a possibility Castle could be guilty."

She stares at him for a moment before turning and starting back up the stairs. He's right. She doesn't want to think about that. Because thinking about that sends shivers of guilt and shame curling down her spine. She's certain he didn't kill Michelle Brighton. She can't absolve him of anything else, not yet, but she does know that much. Richard Castle is a lot of things but cold blooded murder isn't one of them.

"I mean, how well do we really know the guy? He plots murders for a living, Beckett. The ideas are obviously there." Beckett ignores him and keeps climbing, her heels clicking loudly on the concrete steps. "Maybe he finally just came up with one he couldn't pass up."

She turns to face him on the landing of the fourth floor, tries to keep her emotions in check as she responds. "Castle isn't capable of murder. You know that."

"Everyone is capable of murder under the right set of circumstances. _You_ know _that_."

"Even if that's true, he didn't do this."

"Look, I know what it is to be betrayed by a partner. I know you don't want to believe it - "

"I don't believe it because it's not true. And I'm going to prove that." She arches a brow at Esposito. "You going to help or hinder?"

She spins away from him and pushes into the apartment, pulling a pair of blue gloves out of her pocket. Castle always gets a kick out of her having multiple pairs of gloves in her car, her coats, her pants pockets. He likes to fish them out and play with them, making misshapen balloon animals and obscene hand gestures to entertain himself. Shaking her head slightly, Beckett pushes away the smile and snaps on her gloves, eyes immediately scanning over the apartment.

Yellow markers dot the floor randomly and a fine coat of fingerprint powder sticks to most of the flat surfaces. Picking her way across the living room, Beckett runs through the scene in her head, imposes images of the victim over the now empty room. She remembers Castle's soft gasp when he'd seen her face, had recognized her as someone he knew. She'd shot him a silent question that he'd waved off, his eyes studiously avoiding the body on the gurney. It was odd, of course, but she hadn't really thought anything of it at the time. Of course, now she can't think of anything else. Was that gasp simply the result of him recognizing the victim as a friend and colleague or something more?

Her eyes slip over toward the bedroom as Esposito heads into the kitchen, flashlight in hand. Taking a deep breath, Beckett steps across the hall. The bed is disheveled, sheets and comforter bunched across the foot, pillows scattered about. She knows some of this is the result of the CSU team performing their sweep but -

The images come unbidden. She sees him in that bed with the victim, back flexing as he holds himself over her, hips pitching and rolling. Ghostly echoes of his moans fill her mind and she bites back a weak sob, her hands clenched tightly against her thighs. Closing her eyes, she tries to dislodge the violently vibrant pictures with a shake of her head. She has to concentrate on clearing him right now. The rest can come later.

"Yo, Beckett."

She spins herself out of the bedroom with a relieved sigh and walks into the kitchen, finds Esposito standing in the middle of the room with a uniform waiting behind him.

"Officer Branch found this stuck in the trash chute." He holds up a clear evidence bag containing a tan leather glove, the fingers stained rust. "Looks like blood to me."

"Yeah," she breathes, her eyes flicking up to meet his. There's a softness there that makes her heart stutter and skip. He sees it too. "There's no way that glove is big enough to fit Castle." Beckett turns her attention to the eager looking uniform. "No sign of the other one?"

"No, ma'am," Branch replies, her voice soft and lilting. "We've searched the chute, the furnace room and the dumpsters. That's all we've found."

"Thank you, Officer," Beckett says. "Good work."

"Thanks, Detective Beckett." The young woman's eyes sparkle with satisfaction. "Should we keep canvassing?"

"Yeah. Check in with Johnson and his team and see if they need help with the tenant interviews."

Branch nods and leaves, a little bounce in her step. Turning back to Esposito, Beckett reaches out and fingers the evidence bag, hope welling up inside her chest.

"Don't jump to conclusions," Esposito warns in a gentle tone. "We have to get it to the lab. He's not clear yet."

No. But he will be. She's certain of it.

* * *

Her voicemail is overflowing when she gets to the precinct the next morning and she has about thirty emails to check and return but all she can do it alternate between staring at the board and her phone, willing it to ring. The techs bumped her to the front of the line and she knows these things take time but her patience has been worn thin for forty-eight hours and she just needs answers already.

She didn't go see him after taking the glove to the lab. She told herself that as the investigator of record on the case against him she couldn't, but laying in her bed, alone and cold, she'd admitted the truth. She was scared. She was scared to face him, to see the betrayal and hurt in his eyes. Scared that her doubts and fears had managed to once again wreck them. They've only been in this thing, actually together, for less than six months, but they've been friends and partners for more than four years. She should have had more faith in him, evidence or not. He's not a murderer and she's not certain she'll ever be able to forgive herself for actually giving merit to the idea.

The rest, though, she can't dismiss as easily. She hates herself for it but the thought of him being with other women has been something that has worried her from the start. Images of ex-wives, manipulative actresses, flight attendants and bikini clad reporters assault her in her weaker moments. She knows he loves her, though he hasn't said it since that day last May, standing in her living room with tears in his eyes as he pleaded with her to, for once, choose him. But love doesn't guarantee fidelity and six months together doesn't erase decade's worth of habits. He waited for her for but -

"Have you seen Ryan?"

Esposito's voice pulls her out of her head and she blinks, the murder board swimming back into focus. His picture is in the middle and she wants to rip it down, pretend that it was never there at all.

"Not since yesterday morning, actually." She frowns, can feel her eyebrows gathering in the middle of her forehead. "You've called him?"

"Yeah. Just keep getting voicemail. Maybe I should call -"

The ringing of her phone cuts him off. She stares at the little yellow light as it flashes, her hand hovering inches above her thigh. She tells herself to just answer it, to reach out and pick up the damned receiver but her arm remains motionless, her joints stiff and unbending. Esposito swoops in and picks it up, cradling the phone between his ear and shoulder as he writes down whatever information is being fed to him.

"You're sure?"

There's a pause and Beckett stares at the murder board again, her eyes locked on his picture. It's the picture from his drivers' license; he's wearing a blue button down and a smile, his face younger and less lined. He looks handsome and rakish and all she wants is to go to him, run her hands over the wrinkles and lines the intervening years have etched into his skin, kiss him until he knows how sorry she is.

"Okay. Thanks, Jerry."

Esposito drops the phone back into its cradle, the black plastic clattering loudly. Beckett tries to read him, tries to find the answers in the thin line of his mouth and the firm set of his brow.

"Well?"

"The blood is a match for the vic's. They were able to get DNA from sweat they pulled from the lining inside the gloves." He meets her eye. "It's not Castle's."

Her shoulders shake as the relief pours through her and she sucks in a deep breath, tries to calm her thundering heart.

"There's still other evidence against him, Beckett," Esposito continues quietly. "This helps but it doesn't clear him completely."

"That may not but this does." Beckett looks up to see a thoroughly unkempt Ryan standing in front of her desk. He's wearing the same clothes as the day before, tie hanging out of one pocket, face covered in stubble. He looks haggard but his eyes are shining as he holds up his notebook, triumph radiating out through his broad smile. "This will _definitely_ clear him."


	4. Chapter 4

Esposito looks at Beckett and then back at Ryan, confusion and worry in his eyes. "How long have you been here, bro? You look like hell."

Ryan just waves him off and leads them into the conference room. He's jittery and jumpy, too much energy flowing through his thin frame. "Okay, so Castle said he was at the Old Haunt from about nine-twenty until eleven-thirty, which his staff corroborates. After he left, he says he took a walk for an hour or so and then went back to the bar through the secret entrance, right?" Beckett nods and Esposito leans back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. "We know that he got home at approximately two-thirty from the security camera at his building and the statement from his doorman. That leaves about three hours of his night unaccounted for."

"Yeah, three hours that line up almost perfectly with the kill zone," Esposito tosses in. "Lanie says the estimated TOD is between midnight and one-thirty which gives Castle plenty of time to - "

"Let me finish," Ryan snaps, cutting off Esposito's recitation of the timeline. Beckett gives him a weak smile and Ryan nods, starts again. "Working on that time frame, I started combing through all the camera footage I could find around the areas Castle said he walked. I found some ATM footage, a couple of traffic cams and two jewelry stores." Beckett swallows at the thought of jewelry, wonders if the footage comes from the same store where Castle bought the tennis bracelet. Ryan continues, his words crashing into each other in his haste to explain, "I also pulled all the footage I could find in a three block radius around the vic's apartment since the building doesn't have cameras or a doorman. I was able to piece together this."

He hits a button on a tiny remote and the television flickers to life, grainy security footage filling the screen. "Okay, this is Castle," he points to the screen, indicating a man walking on the opposite sidewalk from the camera. His face isn't clear and the quality of the image is poor but the height and body type definitely fit. "This footage is from an ATM cam about three blocks from the bar. Time code is eleven forty-two." He hits another button and the tape advances, the picture becoming clearer. "There he is again." Ryan points at the image of Castle on the screen, this time clearly visible and identifiable as he walks directly in front of the camera. "This is from a jewelry store ten blocks from the Old Haunt. The time stamp on this one is twelve twenty-three." He fast forwards three more times, clearly documenting the path of Castle's walk over the course of the hour he was out of the Old Haunt, ending with a shot of him on the block where they all know the secret entrance to the bar is located, the time stamped at twelve fifty-two. "We know the cab picked him up near the hidden exit at about two. Based on all of this, there's no way he had time or opportunity to be thirty blocks away murdering Michelle Brighton."

Her heart hammers wildly against her ribs and her fingers are digging into her thighs but she manages to keep her voice level when she speaks. "So, this plus the glove means -"

"Castle's not our guy," Esposito finishes, a smile tipping up the corners of his lips.

"Glove?" Ryan looks back and forth between them, his eyes wide. "What glove? I don't know about a glove."

"Yeah, you miss things when you scrub video for twenty-four straight hours, bro. Uniforms found a bloody leather glove in the trash chute at the vic's building. Blood matches the victim, sweat inside doesn't match Castle. Plus it's way too small to fit his hand."

"What color was the glove?"

"Tan," Beckett answers, her stomach clenching. She knows that look on Ryan's face all too well. He thinks he has something. "Why?"

"Well, I scrubbed all the footage from around the vic's apartment too, remember? Just double checking. Anyway, I remember seeing a guy wearing gloves on one of the tapes. Thought it was weird because it's not really cold enough for gloves." Ryan flips off the monitor and tosses the remote on the table. "I'll go back and look for it again."

"Hang on just a sec, Ryan." Beckett stops him with a hand on his arm before turning back to Esposito. "Espo, you wanna go get Castle processed out?"

"On it."

She watches him go and then faces Ryan again. "I don't know how -"

"You don't have to." He shakes his head at her, a tired smile splitting his cheeks. "Really."

"But what you did, Kevin -"

"Was police work. Nothing more."

"That's not true and you know it. You built his alibi. You _believed_ in him."

"So did you." Beckett shakes her head, tries to push back the wet knot of emotion lodged in her throat. "You did. You just had to realize it." Ryan lift his hand, lays it over her still on his forearm. "You'll be okay," he whispers, his blue eyes shining with certainty. "Now, I'm gonna go back and look at those tapes again."

"No, you need to go home. Shower, sleep, see your wife. Somebody else can go over that stuff."

"I'll crash for two days once this is done, okay? Just let me do this, Beckett. I know what I'm looking for and it would take someone else twice as long to find it."

"Okay," she sighs, letting go of his arm. "But you're out of here as soon as you're done with that."

"Deal," he grins, walking backward out of the room before spinning in his heel and speed walking back to the video room.

Beckett watches him for a moment before walking out and heading straight for the murder board. She pulls Castle's picture down and places it gently inside her desk drawer before picking up the eraser and removing any trace of his name from the white board.

* * *

Beckett calls Alexis while waiting for Esposito to come back up and has to fight back her own tears as the girl sobs and thanks her. She explains that it was Ryan's diligence that cleared him, not hers, but Alexis keeps thanking her, emotion choking her thin voice.

Tossing the phone on her desk, she rolls back in her chair and shoves her hands through her hair, berating herself for her cowardice. She should have been the one to go get him. She should have faced it herself instead of sending Esposito. But she couldn't do it. Couldn't look at him in that cell again, couldn't have their first conversation in two days take place in front of a gaggle of uniforms and criminals. She knows she'll have to face him eventually, will have to apologize and own up to her mistakes but not yet. Not here.

Looking for something to occupy her time until Ryan gets her a usable picture of the gloved man, Beckett pulls out the victim's phone records. All the calls to Castle are highlighted in blue, Esposito's color of choice. She skims over those lines quickly, eyes darting to the timestamps without her permission. Most of the calls took place during normal business hours but it's the handful that occurred in the middle of the night that she can't get past. Why would Michelle Brighton have called Castle at a quarter to eleven if not for -

She's two months back in the call log when she notices it. The same number popping up regularly, at least twice a week, the times varying, some late at night, others in the middle of the day. The calls get longer as she goes back, increasing from minutes to hours. She starts marking the calls off with a yellow highlighter, finds the earliest one starting about five months prior to the victim's death. The soft thud of booted feet approaching her desk draws her attention as she's picking up the phone to get the number traced.

"Hey, Espo," she says as his shadow falls across her desk, "I think I found something in the phone rec-" She looks up and finds Castle staring back at her, his face closed and drawn, hair falling down over his forehead. He looks like he's aged five years in the past two days and she tries to say something - his name, an apology, _I love you_ - but her mouth moves silently, the words refusing to come. His eyes flit to the murder board and she's glad she took his picture down, scrubbed off every trace of his name. Of her doubt.

"You found something?" Esposito appears at Castle's elbow and she jumps, breaking their silent staring contest.

"Yeah, look at this. This number," she taps the file with her highlighter, "started showing up about five months ago. It pops up fairly regularly over the next couple of months, all the calls at least half an hour or more. Then the lengths start to taper off, ending with a ten minute call about three weeks before her death."

"Boyfriend?"

"Michelle didn't have a boyfriend," Castle says, his voice quiet and raw. "She said she didn't really have time to date because of her work hours."

"And I double checked it against our list of numbers for her family and colleagues. No matches."

"I'll get Tech to run it down," Esposito offers, holding his hand out for the file. Beckett hands it over and thanks him as he goes to sit at his own desk, her eyes landing on Castle.

"I called Alexis," she whispers, trying not to cringe at the way he's avoiding her eyes.

"I know. I called her when they gave me my phone back."

"You want me to take you home?"

"No, I'll stay. I want to help with this."

"Castle, you need to go home. You need a shower and to rest and -"

"I'm fine, Beckett," he cuts her off and she cringes at the sharpness of her name on his tongue. "She was my friend and I'm staying."

"Okay. Will you at least sit down? You look exhausted."

"Yeah, well, forty-eight hours in lockup really takes it out of you," he huffs. "I just need some coffee."

"I'll get you some," she says, rolling her chair back from the desk.

"I've got it." He turns abruptly and walks away, his movements stiff with anger and fatigue. She wants to follow him, corner him in the break room and make him look her in the eye. Make him listen to her apologies and explanations. She's halfway out of her chair when Esposito spins around, notepad in hand.

"Okay, the number belongs to a Benjamin Ferguson."

"Benjamin Ferguson? That name is familiar. Wait a second." Beckett pulls out the files, rifles through the witness statements collected from the other tenants in the building. "Here," she says, pulling one from the middle of the pile. "Benjamin Ferguson. Lives in the vic's building. Apartment 2G. His statement says that he didn't know Michelle, that he'd only spoken to her once or twice at the mailboxes."

"Obviously, Mr. Ferguson has a bit of a problem with the truth," Esposito says, flipping his notepad closed and standing up. "How about we go pick him up and see if we can jog his memory?"

"You go," Beckett says, her eyes straying to the window of the break room. Castle is standing in front of the espresso machine, his face blank. Esposito nods and strides off, calling out for two uniforms as he hits the call button for the elevator.

Beckett stands and walks toward the break room, her legs heavy and slow. An angry knot of fear twists in her stomach as she approaches him, her eyes roaming over his body, taking in his defensive posture. This is going to be bad.

"Castle."

"Not now," he sighs, his tone full of barely repressed anger. "We're not doing this now."

"But -"

"No." He turns to face her with cold eyes, his knuckles turning white around the handle of the ceramic mug. "Not now. Not here."

She nods and he strides out of the room barely missing Ryan as he comes skidding around the corner, a glossy photo print in his hand.

"Got it!" He jogs over, hands her the picture. "I found him. Tan gloves, walking toward the vic's apartment building at ten after midnight. That's gotta be our guy."

"Benjamin Ferguson," she breathes looking down at the print. The image is grainy but it's definitely him. "Esposito's on his way to pick him up now."

"Without me?" Ryan asks, offense in his tone.

"Ryan, you haven't slept in two days," Beckett points out as she watches him sway perilously on the spot. "You can barely walk right now much less wield a weapon. Go home. Get some sleep."

"I want to make sure we get this guy."

"We will. You need to go home, though. I can handle this."

"You sure?"

"Go."

"Okay, okay." He turns away, sees Castle sitting in the chair next to her desk, his eyes trained on the murder board. "He okay?"

"He - " She stumbles, not really sure what the real answer to that question is. "He will be."

* * *

"So, that's our guy?" Gates is standing next to her in the observation room, watching through the glass as Benjamin Ferguson signs his confession under the watchful eyes of Esposito and his public defender.

"Yeah," Beckett answers, leaning heavily against the wall. "He confessed after about ten minutes. Says that he met Michelle at the mailboxes about six months ago and struck up a conversation. They developed a friendship over the phone but after a few months he wanted more and she didn't. She broke off communication three weeks ago, told him that she wasn't looking to date at that time. That she wanted to focus on her career." Beckett turns away from the window, putting the sad scene at her back. "He saw her coming home from a date the night before the murder and snapped. He confronted her the next night and killed her when she told him that she just wasn't interested in _him_."

"It seems so sudden and random. To kill someone over not wanting to date you?"

"He apparently has a history of mental illness. Records indicate that he's been hospitalized for severe depression and rage issues at least twice. It seems he's been unemployed and off his medication for about a year"

"Senseless." Gates turns away from the window, arms crossed loosely over her chest. "You know I should have taken you off this case the moment Mr. Castle became a suspect."

"I know."

"Do you know why I didn't?"

"No, sir."

"Because it wouldn't have done any good. You would have worked this case whether you were on it or not."

Beckett meets her gaze and nods. Gates stares at her, lips pressed tightly together. After long moment she nods and unfolds her arms, reaches out for the door handle.

"Good work, Detective."

"Thank you."

Chairs scrape in the other room as two uniforms come in to collect Ferguson. Esposito walks into the observation room, the signed confession in his hands.

"Where's Castle?"

"He left after Ferguson confessed. Said he didn't need to see anymore," Beckett answers. She reaches out for the paper Esposito is holding but he pulls it away from her, backing up toward the door.

"I got this."

"Espo -"

"I got it, Beckett. Go home." He turns and walks out of the room, tossing back over his shoulder, "Go fix it."

She sags down against the wall. Go fix it. She doesn't know if she can.

But she knows she has to try.

* * *

**AN: **One chapter left. Rating will be going up to M.

HUGE thanks to SparkleMouse for holding my hand through this chapter and convincing me not to quit on multiple occasions.


	5. Chapter 5

Kate stands nervously outside the loft, shifting her weight from side to side. She has a key but she doesn't dare use it. Not tonight.

She knocks again, her knuckles stinging. He's not answering the phone. She doesn't blame him but she's not giving up, she's not going away; a lot has happened in the last few days and they need to talk about it. She raises her hand to knock again as the door swings open and she's struck with an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. The only difference is this time, he's the one that's wet.

"I was in the shower," he explains needlessly, his wet hair sticking to his forehead and a towel tossed over one shoulder. Her favorite pair of his pajama pants are slung low on his hips, the cuffs pooling around his heels on the hardwood floor. Her eyes track over his naked torso, flit over the beads of errant water that slip slowly down his chest. She wants to reach out and touch him, beg for forgiveness with the press of her lips and the slide of her tongue as she laps the water from his skin. He watches her for a moment and then turns away, leaves her standing in the open doorway.

Pulling in a deep breath to slow her thundering heart, Kate takes his silent invitation and steps into the loft, closing the door softly behind her. She follows him to the living, stopping nervously next to the couch; his back is to her as he stands in front of the bar, and she can see the tension in the rigid line of his shoulders. "Where's Martha?"

"Out celebrating my freedom."

"Without you?"

"Didn't feel much like celebrating."

The bottle of scotch lands heavily on the wooden table and she waits for him to turn around, to aim his obvious anger in her direction but he just stands there, the muscles of his back flexing as he raises the heavy glass tumbler to his lips.

"Castle."

"Why are you here?"

"We have to talk about this."

He snorts into his glass, the sound distorted by the rippling liquid. "Oh, _now_ you want to talk. Now that you realize that I'm innocent."

"Now I that _can_ talk, Castle. You know I had to keep my distance while you were a suspect."

"You mean when you and Esposito had me all but convicted?"

She swallows, her throat thick with regret and guilt. "Yes."

"All right. Talk."

"Would you at least turn around and look at me? I'm not having this conversation with your back."

He turns slowly on the spot and she wishes he hadn't. The coldness in his eyes hits her hard, sends shivers skittering down her spine. She'd known this wasn't going to be an easy conversation but she hadn't been prepared for this, for the absolute enmity in his face. Castle just looks at her, his hair slowly dripping water onto his neck, one hand propped on the bar and the other wrapped tightly around his glass. She waits for him to say something, anything, but the seconds tick by in silence and she realizes that that this is up to her.

"I'm sorry." He scoffs and she takes a step forward, her hands lifted in supplication. "No, just listen. I _am _sorry. I'm sorry that you had to go through this and I'm sorry that I couldn't - didn't - do more to help you. I'm sorry that I doubted you, Castle, but the evidence was compelling." He won't meet her eyes, blankly staring just past her right shoulder. "I was doing my job. I - I get that you're mad but I was _doing my job_, Castle."

"And part of your job was to repeatedly accuse me of cheating on you?" His voice is low and angry and it rocks her back on her heels, sends her heart plummeting. "_That_ was a vital part of solving Michelle's murder?"

"Yes," she says and his eyes finally fly to hers, startled and wild. "Yes, it was. Because so much of the evidence indicated that you were involved in a - a relationship with her."

"I explained and refuted every single piece of that evidence and you still doubted me." He drops the glass of scotch on the bar. "You thought I killed her."

"No, I didn't," she defends weakly. "But I had to do my job. I couldn't clear you based solely on your statement and my belief that you were innocent. You know that's not how it works."

"Fine, you couldn't clear me. You needed proof. I get that. But-" He takes a step toward her, his body coming out of the shadows. She can see his face clearly now, can see past the anger to the hurt. "You could have come to tell me that you believed me. That you were working to get me out. For all I knew, you were out shoring up the case against me."

"You told me you didn't want to speak to me without your lawyer."

He scoffs. "So it's my fault. As always."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that in the entire time that I've known you, everything that has ever happened between us has, according to you, been my fault. I thought you might take responsibility for once but I can see now how that was just stupidity on my part."

"I know what I did hurt you. And I'm sorry. I _am_ taking responsibility, Castle." She can feel herself growing angry with him, with his staunch refusal to see her side of this. To see that she did the best she could under the circumstances. "But _you_ were a murder suspect and _I _am a homicide detective. Do you not see the conflict of interest there?"

"No, I see it. What I don't see is how you, as my girlfriend, could seriously question whether or not I was sleeping with her. _That's _what this is really about." Castle takes another step closer to her and she can feel the heat radiating off his chest, pouring out of his lips. "You may not have thought I killed her but you did think I was having an affair with her." He cocks his head to the side, studies her face. She tries to hold it back but the mask has been slipping for hours, was never firmly in place to start with, and he sees it. Sees her doubts and her insecurities, her fears. "You still do."

"Castle -"

"Is that why you're really here? Not to apologize but to find out for sure whether or not I was sleeping with her?" She stares at him, her bottom lip trapped firmly between her teeth, the sharp bit of copper stinging the tip of her tongue. Castle laughs hollowly, the sound rattling around inside his broad chest. "I can't believe this. All this - After everything, you still think I was cheating on you. _Fuck_, Beckett."

"I -"

"When is enough going to be enough for you? When are you going to stop doubting me and my - When are you going to _trust _me?"

"I do trust you."

"Bullshit. You thought I was going to sleep with Kristina Coterra, you think I was having an affair with Michelle. You don't trust me." He turns away from her, the towel falling from his shoulder and landing with a wet thump on the floor. "You never have."

"I trust you." She wraps her hand around his elbow and twists him back to face her. His eyes catch hers as she steps into his space, brings herself as close to him as she dares. "I trust you with my life, I trust you to be my partner and to have my back."

"But you don't trust me in this."

"This - Castle, this, what we have, is important but I still don't know how to do it. I don't know how to be with you and not worry about what happens if it ends."

"I don't know what else to do Kate," he whispers and her eyes flutter closed. It's the first time he's said her name in two days. "I don't know how else to convince you that this is what I want. That _you're_ what I want."

"Castle."

"Tell me what to do. Tell me what you need because I can't keep doing this. We have to move past this so tell me -"

She pushes up onto the balls of her feet, her hands sliding up to cradle his face as she cuts off his quiet plea. He groans softly when she slides her tongue over his bottom lip, his hands landing on her hips. He pushes her back and she stumbles, her low heels clicking as they collide with the floor. Her hands are still on his face as he walks her backward, his eyes dark and serious.

"You can't fix this by kissing me." Her back hits the wall and he looms over her, his chest broad and imposing. Castle lets go of her waist and brings his hands to her wrists; his fingers bracelet the thin bones and he pushes her arms back, lifting them up over her head. "Either you trust me completely or you don't."

Kate lets her head fall back against the wall and meets his steady gaze. She's pinned, the hard press of his body and the wall holding her up, keeping her together. Closing her eyes, she lets herself break, hopes that he'll catch all the pieces before they hit the floor.

"I'm scared," she admits, her voice wavering.

"Of me?"

"No. Of this, us. I'm scared that I'm going to get - That's it's going to fall apart."

"Constantly doubting me isn't going to stop that. It only makes it worse and ends up hurting us both."

"I know." She opens her eyes, finds him still staring down at her. "I don't want to lose you."

"Then stop pushing me away. I'm here." He leans in, his hips and knees and ribs pressing into her. "I want _you_. I choose _you_. Let that be enough." His lips graze her cheek, soft and damp. "I love you, Kate. I don't want to be with anyone else."

She turns her head and chases his mouth, the need for him building. He has to know. He has to see, to understand. She whimpers softly when he drags his teeth over her jaw, his fingers flexing around her wrists.

"Castle, I -"

"No," he cuts her off, nipping at the corner of her mouth. "No more."

He gathers both her wrists in his left hand, his grip tight as he drags his right hand down her arm and across her throat. His fingers tense, the rough pads pressing firmly into the side of her neck before sliding down, slipping between the valley of her breasts, gliding over the plane of her stomach.

"I've wanted you for years," he whispers against her lips, his breath rushing over her cheeks. Castle flicks open the button of her slacks and tugs at the zipper, spreads his hand wide over her abdomen. His fingers skim the elastic of her underwear and Kate moans, bucking off the wall, her hips colliding with his thighs. "I waited for you until you were ready to give us a chance and if you think I'm going to do _anything_," he pushes past her waistband, slips his hand down until the tips of his fingers barely brush over her, "to screw this up, to ruin it -"

"Castle," she whines, her body arching into his, desperate for his touch. A feral growl rumbles in his chest when he dips into her with his middle finger, finds her wet and swollen for him.

"I'm not letting you screw it up either," he bites, his teeth sharp on her bottom lip. His fingers are quick and rough, flicking hard at the swollen nub of her clit, coating them both with the evidence of her need for him. A knee slides between her thighs and she sinks down, desperate. She needs more. More pressure. More friction. More _him_.

"I'm not. I won't," she pants, her eyes fluttering as his mouth slides across her jaw. "I want this so much. I want you."

He pushes into her, two fingers stretching her apart, and she cries out, her head thumping against the wall. Slowly, he pulls out, teasing, before slamming back in again, his palm connecting sharply with her clit. She grinds down into him, her body already clenching and spasming around the intrusion of his fingers. His hips rock as he pumps into her and she can feel him, hard and hot, against her thigh. Her hands clench over her head, nails digging into her palms as she rides his fingers, her shoulders slamming into the wall.

She chants his name as the pleasure swirls in her abdomen, his mouth trailing fire down her neck. Her body bows and he releases her wrists, his arm wrapping around her waist, holding her close. Her hands fall to his shoulders and she tugs at him, twines her arms around his head and neck, her lips pressed to his ear when she breaks.

Castle eases his hand away from her, lets her sag against his chest for a moment before pulling her gently with him as he starts to walk back toward his office. The loose fabric of her pants catches on her heels and she trips, her side colliding roughly with the door jamb. Castle chuckles quietly as she kicks out of the shoes and pants, his fingers rubbing softly over the side of her hip.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." She looks up at him, the distance greater now, searches his face. His eyes are still guarded but his smile is soft and real. "Are we?"

His hands move to her shirt, slowly flicking the buttons open as he continues to guide them toward his bedroom. "We will be," he assures her, thumbs strumming over her ribs as he pushes the shirt open. "But can you do me a favor?"

"Anything," she answers, the word falling from her lips before she even recognizes thinking it.

"If I'm ever arrested again, could you let someone else work the case? I know you're the best detective in the NYPD but I really could have used Kate over the past few days, not Beckett."

Castle sits when his knees hit the edge of the bed and she sinks down into his lap, his arms wrapping tightly around her waist.

"Yeah," she breathes into his waiting mouth, the hard knot of anxiety in her chest finally dissolving, "I can do that." She kisses him slowly, deeply, her tongue sliding over the roof of his mouth, curling around his deep, reverberating moan.

She loves him. She loves him so much and the words are thrashing inside her chest, desperate to spill forth and fill the air between them. She lets them slip out into her kiss, unspoken, lets him breathe them in. She's desperate to tell him but not tonight. Tonight is about apologies and forgiveness and letting go of the past, of her fears. Tomorrow is for declarations and hope and the future.

Tomorrow.

* * *

_fin_


End file.
